Closure
by amyniknak
Summary: He hasn't seen her for years, but he's never forgotten. Is it even possible? Neville/Luna, with some Neville/Hannah and Luna/Rolf, but those are small. Oneshot.


Disclaimer - I don't own anything, et cetera.

A/N - I write this absolutely ages ago, and I only just remembered about it and decided to post. I'm pretty proud of this by the way, so be nice when you review! No, say what you want, but please review, because it's so lovely when people review.

* * *

I don't know how to feel.

I don't know how to feel. I don't want to feel. I'd prepared myself for this so many times. I'm not good enough for her, she's so special, and she doesn't deserve me. But somehow, I'd put it all to one side. Concentrated on my job, not women.

Ha, I say women, like I know what I'm talking about.

There's only ever been one woman.

And I never even got to kiss her.

Just shows exactly how useless I am.

Why couldn't I have just told her? Maybe then I wouldn't feel so wretched, so powerless. It hurts so much more whenever I think about how I could have changed things, just by saying three words. It's such a cliché. Which is strange, as she's everything but.

I don't think there's ever been a day when I haven't thought of her. Whenever anyone tells a story that seems unbelievable, I smile to myself. When I see a sweep of blonde hair, my heart leaps, every part of me hoping that this once, it's her... When I wake up after dreaming, wishing that just this once, it could be true, it could be real. When I see her face in my mind as clear as if she was right next to me. When I pretend that she's beside me, her hands in my hair, brushing the faint scars at my temple, her hand in mine.

It's been nine years since I last saw her.

I wonder if she's changed.

Apparently she's been travelling. She never said, but I knew she'd always want to do that. Four walls would never have been enough to contain someone like her.

Someone like her.

She's a witch, but I truly believe, and always have done, that she's much more than that.

She helped me so much more than she'll ever know.

During the last battle.

I could see her. In my mind. I could feel the sorting hat on my head, the hat that had put me in Gryffindor, the hat that had finally made me feel included, belonging. It was aflame, I could smell my hair burning, that acrid smell that I couldn't get out of my mind for days, but somehow, I couldn't see the chaos in front of me. There were no Death Eaters, no You-Know-Who, no werewolves, no giants, no nothing. I couldn't even hear Bellatrix Lestrange's laughter. It didn't pierce me like it used to. Because I could only see this girl. This girl who everyone shunned, the one they all thought was crazy.

I don't know exactly what happened, but somehow… I felt my whole chest tighten, and then suddenly burst. I thought I was dying, I thought that was it. He'd killed me, I was sure. But then, I didn't. I felt the spell break, courage coursing through me.

I don't like to think about what happened then. Most people regard it all as some amazing event, to be remembered forever, to be passed down through generations – the day the Dark Lord fell. I don't think I want that. I don't want greatness.

I used to think I did. I used to want the glory that Harry Potter seemed to glow with. I wanted to live up to my name, to make my parents proud, to be remembered in all the history books. But it turns out that all I ever wanted is so much simpler than all that.

Her.

The one thing I can never have.

I never thought a simple piece of parchment could evoke such strong emotions within me. The words don't look right, as if they've somehow been forced into the wrong shapes and are aching to be corrected. And it's all so neat, so tidy. Everything looks so uniform, the way the letters are all the same height, nothing like her irregular handwriting that seemed to change every day. The way she sometimes dotted her i's with circles, other times hearts, and other times tiny stars. She'd use different inks too, depending on her mood. And of course, she would always doodle in the margin, crazy creatures she assured us existed, portraits of people, often a woman, who I know realise was her mother.

This parchment in my hand is like any other. Everyone would have received the same one. There's no individuality, there's no her.

I crumple it in my hand, and discard it into the fire.

* * *

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr Rolf Scamander and Miss Luna Lovegood._

_1__st__ July 2008 1pm_

_RSVP via owl._

* * *

I don't want to go. I can't. I would just end up sitting, watching, screaming inside my head.

And I wouldn't dream of inviting her to my wedding.

Mainly because every time I've imagined myself marrying, she's always been the bride.

I know exactly how pathetic I sound here. I'm like some little boy with a crush on the pretty girl. Except I'm not a little boy, I'm twenty-eight years old, I'm a teacher, I have my own house, even though I'm not often there, I earn good money, I have friends.

But it's her.

I thought I'd be able to cope without her. I told myself I could forget her, that I'd move on and get married to some nice girl I met down the pub, and we'd have kids together, and they'd go to Hogwarts too, and get picked on by the Slytherins because their dad's Professor Longbottom. And my wife and I would tell them to ignore them, and we'd be a family.

Now she'll have all that without me.

I hate to think of her with anyone else. I don't trust any man other than me with her. Surely, no-one else can even begin to realise how special she is. No-one else can understand her like I did. I can't see anyone else gazing at her across the Great Hall instead of doing their Charms essay, and promptly getting extra homework. Watching her skip along the corridors, except she doesn't skip, that's just how she walks. The way she fiddles with her earrings when she explains various theories of her father's. The way her teeth ever so slightly protrude from her mouth, as if she's nibbling her lip. How she focuses on random points as if studying them, when I know she's just daydreaming. Surely, no-one else can have noticed all of these little things.

I wonder if Rolf's eyes met hers across a crowded room, as ours used to do across the hall.

I wonder if then, he beckoned her over, and she came, smiled at him, while he told her a funny joke and made her giggle.

She never used to laugh at my jokes.

Probably because they weren't funny.

I wonder of then, after a while, he bent down, and kissed her gently, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him back, and he ran his hands through her hair, and she giggled again, and he pulled away, smiling, before leaning in again.

I wonder if he took her home, and continued the kissing on his bed.

I wonder if they undressed each other slowly, never breaking their gaze, before making love.

I don't want to think about it.

I don't want to think about her.

Not when she isn't with me.

I can't go to the wedding.

I can't watch her, smiling her smile, as he slides a ring onto her long, delicate finger. I can't watch her eyes shine as she realises she's finally married, and I can't throw confetti. I can't get drunk at the reception, and make a speech about how lucky they are to have found each other.

I wish I had been the lucky one.

I can't go.

I can't.

* * *

Then why exactly am I walking up the path to her front door? She's bought a new house, or maybe it's his, I don't know. Its old looking, made of dry stone, and the front door is painted bright yellow. It reminds me of a sunflower.

I check my watch. 12 o'clock noon. I have precisely one hour before the wedding commences. Talk about leaving it late, Longbottom.

But then again, I don't even know what I've left until late. I don't know why I'm here. Maybe it's something to do with the numerous Firewhiskies I downed last night, and the three this morning.

And the old photo I couldn't stop looking at.

But anyway, here I am. I am about to knock on this sunflower yellow door, which I now see is carved with intricate patterns that I think are trying to resemble something, and all I can think is what if she opens the door? What if she sees me here, waiting for her, wanting her?

I don't know if I want to see her. Sometimes that's what I want more than ever.

But then it will hurt so much more when she tells me all about how excited she is to marry someone else.

I can hear someone talking from inside the house. I presume it's him. A low buzz, punctuated with silences where I assume someone else replies.

And suddenly the door opens, and I'm staring into the face of the man I should hate more than anyone in the world.

He's shorter than me, but only by a couple of inches, and his brown hair is a couple of shades lighter. His thin face is freckled, his eyes a bright green.

"Here for the wedding?" he smiles, his voice friendly. It's tinged with excitement.

I nod, forcing my face into a smile. I can't dislike him, I just can't. Useless Neville strikes again. I can't even hate him properly.

"Well, you'll have to wait a bit I'm afraid." he says, glancing at a heavy looking watch on his wrist. "I'm all ready, but the women haven't even started yet."

"Women…" I murmur in a mocking tone.

"Yeah." he grins. "Can't live with them, can't live without them."

When in doubt, stick a cliché in there. Works every time.

I laugh, probably too loudly, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Anyway, I best be off. Luna doesn't want me to see her wedding dress yet."

I wish my chest wouldn't tighten like that at the mention of her name.

"Well, see you later." he says, making his way down the garden path. I wait until his footsteps have faded away before resuming my vigil at the door.

I don't know what I expect to happen. Whether I'll get the courage to actually venture inside, or whether she'll see me and call off the wedding.

It's starting to rain. Tiny droplets peppering the stone path. I watch them until everything is wet, pulling my robes further around me. It seems to suit my mood somehow.

"Oh no!" I hear a woman's voice exclaim from somewhere above my head. "It's bloody raining!"

"It's fine." A dreamy voice replies. "If it's raining, the Grass-dwelling dovegs won't dare come out."

It's her. I can hear her. I've heard her. She's there. Literally feet away. If only I could find some Gryffindor courage to open the door and go see her, just to check I didn't imagine her. I want to so badly…

I swallow, shivering. My face must be as white as a sheet. Suddenly I'm that little boy, cowering in front of Professor Snape, failing to transfigure a pin, unable to produce a disarming spell with the rest of the DA. I'm that Longbottom kid, useless near-Squib son of those great Aurors who sacrificed themselves, a disappointment, a loser.

No wonder she prefers Rolf.

Ha. I wouldn't even compare to someone like him. She'd never consider me like that anyway. Not me. She never did.

I lean all my weight against the door. The hangovers started to kick in, I realise. My head's thumping. I should go home. Go home and plan some lessons. Those second years have got the Mandrakes to do, and then there's the Mimbulus Mimbletonia's for the sixth years, and of course, I must find that book for Professor Garsmith, about the uses of common plants in potion making. She told me she wanted to read that months ago.

I suppose I just had other things on my mind.

Five minutes and I'll go. I'll wait until the rain stops.

I can hear the door creaking ominously. Oh crap. I try to stand up, but it's too late. I've managed to force the door open. Rolf obviously didn't latch it properly. Idiot.

No. It's me whose the idiot. There's no point pretending otherwise.

Now I'm lying sprawled in the hallway of a tiny cottage, a vase with a single sunflower smashed and leaking water beside me. Maybe they didn't hear, I mutter silently to myself, and I hurriedly pick myself up and brush the tiny fragments of glass off my robes. I can hear soft footsteps in the distance, a woman's voice calling.

It's Ginny, her long red hair piled upon her head in some kind of complicated style that as a man, I'm too ignorant to really appreciate properly, holding a flimsy dressing gown around herself.

"Neville!" she smiles. "You're early! It's not starting till one!"

Then her face changes, as if she's suddenly realised something. I can feel her staring at my wet hair, the dark circles shadowed beneath my eyes. I am suddenly horribly aware of the stench of Firewhisky on my breath.

"Oh Neville..." she mutters, her eyes suddenly sad. "I'm… I… I don't know what to say."

I don't either. I never planned on making it into the actual house.

"I didn't think you'd come." she says, walking slowly towards me, holding out her arms for a hug. I stay still, rigid, as her arms close around me.

"You can go if you want." I hear her whisper, her breath tickling my ear, her arms awkwardly wrapped around me. "I won't tell anyone you were here."

I still don't move as she pulls away.

"D'you _want_ me to tell Luna you're here?" she asks, biting her lip.

I shrug slightly, so slightly it almost looks accidental.

"Well?" Ginny asks.

"I don't know." I reply hoarsely. "I never thought… I don't want… I do want…"

"Sit down." She says, gesturing to an old wooden chair. I sit, and she sits beside me. I hate how her eyes are so full of pity. Pity for the man who can't even tell someone he loves her.

"Look, Neville." she starts. Her eyes feel as if they are burning into me. I can't look at her. I can't concentrate on anything.

"Gin?" a voice asks from upstairs. It's Hermione.

"Yeah?" Ginny shouts back, shooting me a sympathetic glance.

"Can you help me sort something out?"

Ginny sighs, before getting up. I notice her stomach looks a little rounder than normal. Looks like baby number three's on the way.

"I'll be one second…," she says to me, patting my arm fondly. She's younger than I am. So why do I feel as if she's the mother I never had, taking care of me?

I watch her head upstairs, before studying the photographs that adorn the wall opposite me. They're all so very Luna that I can't stop myself smiling. Strange creatures that don't look as if they could possibly be real, rearing and bucking. A man wearing fuchsia robes, ruffling the hair of a small blonde girl who looks as if she is somewhere else entirely inside her head. A posed picture in front of a huge rock formation, _her_ head resting on _his_ shoulder. He looks almost surprised, yet pleased all the same. There's so much intimacy, so much love, that I want to rip the picture in two and burn the pieces.

It could so easily have been me.

Wait. It is me.

A different photograph of course, but it's me. My face is chubby, my hair in its old centre parting. I can't be more than fifteen. I look so sad, yet happy at the same time. The image of a lost puppy springs to mind. But on my left, Luna is grinning and giggling, her blonde hair flowing down her shoulders. She's wearing her Butterbeer corks. It looks like the Room of Requirement in the background. Yet I don't remember this picture being taken at all…

I don't think I loved her then. Not properly. I didn't really know her. She was just that weird girl.

Except I never really thought that at all. I never thought her strange, even though she was. She was exactly how she wanted to be.

And I admired her for that enormously.

"Neville…"

I turn around, my face red.

"Erm, Neville?" Ginny says nervously. "Luna wants to talk to you."

My mouth is suddenly dry, and as I look down at my hands, I see they are clenched into fists.

"How'd she know I was here?" I croak, concentrating on the pattern the wood makes on the floorboards below me.

"She heard me say your name…" she replies, guiltily.

I don't think I can talk to her. What would I say? Oh hi Luna, congrats on your big day, but here's a thought – get rid of Rolf and have me instead?

"Right." I murmur.

"It's upstairs, first door on the right."

I stumble blindly towards the stairs, gripping the handrail so hard my knuckles whiten. One, two, three, four… how many more steps until I see her? It can't be many. Yet I hope I can keep walking up these winding stairs forever, until all notions of her have dropped out of my head and I can be free.

But suddenly my feet are stepping into thin air, and the stairs I've climbed are all behind me, and there's nothing left to do but walk up to that door and knock.

I do so, rapping softly on the wood, hoping with every part of me that she's not in there, but at the same time, excited for her to open the door. It's been nine years, I've been counting each terrible day, and in a few seconds, I'll see her again.

The door swings open, and there she is.

Luna.

She's there, in front of me.

And I can't think of a single thing to say, even though there are a million thoughts racing through my mind.

She doesn't look like your conventional bride, but then again, Luna doesn't do conventional. She's wearing a dress of purest white, but they seem to be adorned with what look like silken feathers, curled by magic so they twirl away from her body, where the fabric clings to her, giving her a shape I'm sure she never had when I saw her last. Her hair is loose, exactly how I remember it, just longer, flowing over her shoulders and down her back. She has tiny crystal beads threaded into each lock of hair, making her sparkle where the sunlight from the window hits her.

She looks perfect. Every bit as amazing, and unique, and special as before. All the white reminds me of a wraith, or a spirit, the kind Gran used to tell me stories about when I was little; the kind that only appear once in a million years. That's Luna. One in a million.

"You're staring at me Neville." she says, and the sound of her voice makes me smile.

"Sorry…" I murmur, but I continue to take in every detail of her appearance, as I know soon I won't be allowed to look anymore.

"I missed you!" she sighs, running towards me and enveloping me in a hug. For a moment I stay still, but then I hold her close. She's here, and I'm here, and I'm touching her, I'm holding her, and if only there was a spell to keep you in the same moment forever…

But all too soon she pulls away, and looks at me carefully.

"Your scars aren't nearly so clear now." she says, fingering the silvery scar at my temple. "It's a pity really. I liked them."

"Why?" I stutter, tingling from her innocent touch.

"They reminded me of how you fought." she replies simply.

"Oh." I say, smiling. I'd never really thought of it that way…

She removes her hand from my face, and walks over to the window. I follow, my legs trembling.

"Look." She gestures out of the window. There are chairs arranged neatly in lines, all facing towards an arch that seems to be made completely of flowers of all different colours, shapes and sizes.

"I'm getting married today." she says, inconsequentially, not looking at me.

"I know." I whisper, feeling my heart lurch again.

There is a long pause. I can hear the distant voices of Hermione and Ginny, arguing over what sounds like cake, or maybe rake, and the gentle breeze ruffling the curtains.

"Neville?" Luna asks, suddenly close to me, her eyes wide.

"Yes?"

"Would you marry me? If you could…"

It's so unexpected that I know I've almost gasped aloud.

I want to say yes. I want to kiss her. I want to hold her and tell her yes a million times. I want to be the one she says "I Do." A million times more than Rolf ever could, a million times more than any man could. But instead, I force my lips into an amused grin and shake my head, feeling the burning at the back of my eyes that warns me that if I don't do something to stop myself, I'll be crying.

"Oh." She says quietly, almost hurt. "Really?"

"No." I murmur, my hands suddenly cold and clammy. She jerks her head upwards, her eyes suddenly wide.

"Really Neville, really?" she replies, almost excitedly, clasping her hands to her chest in a most un-Luna like way.

"Yeah." I mumble, seemingly examining the floor. I can't believe this is real. She can't know… I can't have told her… this is all a surreal dream. I'll wake up on Gryffindor dormitory, with some obscure Herbology textbook resting heavily on my chest and the sounds of Ron snoring in my ears. I won't have met Luna, she's just an apparition in this dream. She never existed. You-Know-Who never came to power, and my parents were the ones who saw me off at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. In this alternate reality, there is no pain, no suffering, no hammering in my chest whenever I see her…

But then I realise I wouldn't have it any other way. I have her with me now, she's real, I can see her, and touch her, and kiss her. If only I had the courage.

But I don't need it. She's leaning closer, and I almost feel like laughing and crying all at the same time, because I know this won't be as perfect, can't be as perfect as I've always imagined.

But it is, and she is, and she's kissing me, and it's wonderful, and I can't breathe, and I don't care. Maybe, just maybe if I suffocate, I'll be able to stay here forever in the afterlife. With her, and her lips, and her kiss… She's closer to me than ever before, body and soul. She's chosen me, for once in my life I'm wanted, and it feels almost as good as the gentle rhythm with which she kisses me…

But far too soon it's all over, and I realise that my lips are embarrassingly still puckered as she looks at me quizzically, her hands on my waist.

"What's the matter Neville?" she asks, as innocently as if she didn't just kiss me a moment ago.

"You… you kissed me…" I murmur, more to myself than to her.

She nods, biting her lip.

"I used to want to kiss you all the time." she says in hushed tones, as if to guard the fact from those who could be listening.

"Me too…" I reply hoarsely, and suddenly I realise that this is one of these moments that can make or break a life, and whatever I do in these next few seconds will determine what happens in my life from now on. I can see the two paths I could take, as clear as anything, and I know which one I want to follow, but the other one makes more sense and I know that's the one I should take.

It would be so easy to kiss her again… but she doesn't want that, I know it. She doesn't want me, not really. I'm the past, and she has a future all ready for her out in the garden, and I'm not part of it.

"Still, you have Rolf now…" I reply, though it almost breaks me to say it.

"Yes."

She nods, making the sparkles in her hair catch the light.

"And you and Rolf…" I swallow. "You're going to get married today."

I feel somewhat patronising, as if I'm talking to a child, but it's more to myself than to Luna. She is getting married today. She will. I'm not going to stop that.

"Yes." She repeats, and smiles broadly. "You will watch, won't you?"

"Of course." I reply, and as she launches herself towards me in a friendly embrace, I let her, and I hold her, something inside me finally starting to accept.

* * *

It was a beautiful ceremony. The rain stopped long before it began, and the fallen raindrops on the leaves and petals in the garden made everything sparkle. Fitting. But it honestly was a perfect wedding. And that's saying something coming from me. Considering I wanted to prevent it from happening altogether not a few hours before.

And now I'm standing by the garden fence, watching them dance.

They seem to fit together somehow. I'm sure that if I looked at them apart, they wouldn't look right without the other. I wonder if that's what happens when you're perfect for someone. You come as a package. They're LunaAndRolf now. And if I'm completely honest with myself, that fits as well. It just works.

I still can't help but wish it was me though.

Nothing like a wedding to help the pessimism kick in.

It sounds so pathetic, and so disgusting on my tongue, but I doubt I will ever find something like that. She was the only one I have ever felt anything for. Anything real. There was Hermione, but I admired her more than anything. She was just there, and she was kind to me, so I suppose I ended up attaching myself to her. Like some kind of orphaned puppy. That's always attractive in a man, obviously.

And Ginny, but she was more like a younger sister, a pretty younger sister who gave me my first proper kiss but never really felt anything for me. She only went with me to the Yule Ball because she wouldn't have been able to go otherwise. And I never really felt anything for her. I knew she wasn't right for me, which I suppose meant that our "relationship" if you could ever call it that was doomed to fail from the start.

Then there was Luna.

He's kissing her now. And I can't help but reflect on it all.

Love.

It's all around me.

Harry and Ginny are sat on two chairs, as if they're overseeing the dancefloor, their youngest son balanced on Harry's knee while he tells him a story while Ginny absentmindedly strokes her ever so slightly pregnant stomach. She's calling to their elder son, James, to calm down, but he continues to run around the dancefloor, avoiding the couples as if he's riding a broomstick, making a loud screeching noise as he rounds the corners.

Ron and Hermione are sat very close together indeed, their hands entwined. Their young daughter is sat at their feet, leafing through a book that looks far too advanced for her. She can't be more than two now, can she? And Hermione's pregnancy is even more obvious than Ginny's, and she too, is smiling.

Love. Marriage. Babies.

Maybe I could have had it too. With Luna. We could have had it all.

Now she'll have it all without me.

I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts that I don't even notice anyone beside me.

"Hi."

I turn around to find a rather plain yet sort of pretty woman looking at me, frowning.

"I've said hi about five times now!" she says, and I'm horrified at myself for my complete lack of social skills, but then she smiles, and I can tell she's friendly and genuinely wants to talk to me.

"Sorry." I say, smiling in spite of my resolve to remain miserable.

"It's fine, I'm like that myself sometimes. You do remember me, don't you?"

I can honestly say that I don't. Am I supposed to?

"It's me, Hannah Abbot? I was in your year at Hogwarts, but in Hufflepuff. I was in the DA?"

Oh, of course. I suppose I didn't recognise her without her old pigtails.

She looks very different now.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, course, I know who you are."

We talk for a while, mainly what we've been up to the past few years since Hogwarts. She confesses she always thought I'd become a Herbology professor, which I have to say, makes me smile.

"Me?" I reply confused.

"Yes, of course you! You were the best in our year!"

Should a man of 28 blush when he receives a compliment?

"I don't know…" I murmur, secretly thrilled.

"Why do you always put yourself down Neville?" she asks, and I don't know the answer. "I mean, you're a hero!"

"Thanks…" I say quietly. She laughs.

"You haven't really changed much, have you?" she says, tilting her head to one side.

"No." I laugh back, and any awkwardness there might have been dissolves into nothingness.

"Neville?"

I turn away from Hannah to find Luna tapping on my shoulder. And for once, I don't feel as if I'm going to be sick from all the nerves. It feels, normal.

"I got you a present." Luna says, holding out a small rectangular parcel wrapped inconspicuously in brown paper, but tied with bright purple ribbon.

"Thanks." I say, smiling genuinely for what seems like the first time in a while.

"It's okay." She replies, and before I even have a chance to open it, she skips off to Rolf, and they resume their slow dancing, her arms draped around his neck. She has to stand on tiptoes to reach him, but it doesn't seem to matter. He seems happy to stoop slightly to kiss her on the lips.

I look away, and divert my attention to the package I'm holding. I carefully tear off the paper, stowing the ribbon in my pocket. For some reason, I find myself wanting to keep it.

"Shall I go find a bin for the paper?" Hannah asks. I'd actually almost forgotten she was there. I nod, and she takes the crumpled rubbish from my hand and heads into the house. I look down and find the photograph I looked at on the wall earlier, the one of Luna and me. The photo me looks slightly happier than before though, more secure in himself. Or maybe I'm just seeing it that way.

The photo seems to have worked loose from the frame, its corners dog-eared. I set the frame down on a nearby table after removing the photograph, and attempt to smooth it out a little. And that's when I see it.

Oh the back of the photograph there are words.

"_Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom._

_The D.A._

_I loved you."_

And although my heart should be aching with missed opportunity, I feel… fine. The past is the past, I think, as I delicately trace Luna's curled handwriting gently with my finger. She loved me. Someone loved me. Someone who I loved, loved me too.

I notice her watching me, her head on Rolf's shoulder. She smiles, almost apologetically, but just as sweetly as every other time. Only now, it doesn't make me feel weak at the knees. Something's changed. And I'm happy.

Because I realise all I needed was closure.

To know it was over. To know we both needed to move on. She's found her future.

And maybe it's a bit early to say this, but I think I see my future walking towards me, her blonde hair that's so different to Luna's but still beautiful glinting in the sun.

"So, what did she give you?" Hannah asks.

Was her smile always so… nice… before? I can't believe I never noticed it.

"Just a photo." I say, slotting it gently back into its frame. I know exactly where I can put it on my mantelpiece at home. And of course, when I'm at Hogwarts it will take pride of place on my desk.

"Aww, that's so sweet!" Hannah says, still smiling. I hand her the photo, and she looks over it carefully.

"Neville? Were you and Luna ever… you know? Together?" she asks, and I know the answer without even having to think.

"We could have been. But we never were, no."

Hannah tilts her head to one side again.

"Oh. Then, do you want to dance?"

And I really think I do.

So I let Hannah take my hand and lead me to the dance floor, and I let her place her hands upon my waist, and I do the same, and we dance slowly. It feels awkward, and I feel clumsy, but Hannah doesn't seem to care. She keeps on smiling, ducking her head shyly whenever I notice.

She's different to Luna in almost every way possible.

But she's everything I need.

So as the song ends, I kiss her softly, in a way I never thought I could again. And she's not Luna. She never will be.

But I could most definitely let myself fall in love with Hannah.

They say you never forget your first love. And Luna Lovegood was my first love.

But that doesn't mean she'll be my only.

All I needed was closure.


End file.
